


Those Hipster Teens

by rustyHalo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Martyr!Dave, drunk!John, hipster fic, hipster teens, road shenanigans, street lights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:13:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustyHalo/pseuds/rustyHalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are either drunk, insane or both.</p><p>The two of you fumble around along the empty street, arms around each other's shoulders, supporting yourselves and, in your case, giggling much too loud for the sleeping neighbors not to hear. After all, it's two in the morning. It's as quiet as awkwardness. Cars don't drive out unless this was a highway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Hipster Teens

**Author's Note:**

> Part three of Make Up To Readers For Not Being Always There To Update And Shit. There's probably a part four, but hopefully that will be the last and I'll be back to my update of the multichap. I'm pretty much typing this out of spite and anger because the update won't load and the world is a fucking bitch. I hate it. I am in a foul mood. Sorry.

You are either drunk, insane or both.

The two of you fumble around along the empty street, arms around each other's shoulders, supporting yourselves and, in your case, giggling much too loud for the sleeping neighbors not to hear. After all, it's two in the morning. It's as quiet as awkwardness. Cars don't drive out unless this was a highway.

You and Dave are walking home from a rad party just down the road. He offered to walk you home since a) he didn't want your dad to see you so inebriated, b) your house is just a few blocks away, and c) you drank a cup too many and somehow they wouldn't let Dave drive you in any car. Jade and the others shared wandering looks as they decided that, and you would've thought more of it if you weren't so gone as of the moment so you pin it to the back of your mind for later.

Dave drank a bit, too, you're sure. But he stopped at the third cup and wouldn't drink more even when you forced him to.

"Hahha, Dave, stop wobbling," you slur now as you trip over your own legs.

"Egbert, that's you. I'm hauling you up and you keep falling you fat sack of potatoes," he says as he lugs you forward.

"Ahahah, I like portatoes," you reply.

"Mm, I know."

"Youu know ah lot, Dave."

"Yeah, I guess you can say that."

"Thehen, riddle me this!!"

He grunts as he pulls you forward, and you take it as a yes.

"Why—hic!—Why. Do streetlights have those, those black thingies, in between of them and middle?"

Dave looks at you, confused, then asks for confirmation. "You mean the post?"

"No, dummy! The sha—The shadow!"

"What shadow?"

You pull away from him and stand in that black, lightless spot in the middle of the two orange light circles of the lamp posts. "Thiz sherdowr!"

Dave stands there, hands resolving themselves into his skinny jeans' pockets as he thinks. "Because it would be...too uneconomical to put one right beside another? It's gonna be hell of an electric consumance, plus fossil fuels aren't..."

He drones on and you roll you eyes. You're not sure whether consumance is a word or not but even in your drunken state, you know Dave ranting is dumb. So you cut him off.

"Shut up, Dave."

"What."

"Obviouslyy, they're here to, to, for me to do—hic!—this!" You pull on his stupid orange shirt and, in the unlit area of the road, kiss him.

You could say you are oversaturated with alcohol to have done this, but the excuse you plan on making flies out of your mind because right now this is all that matters.

Dave is frozen against you, hands on your shoulders, afraid of moving, of scaring you away, even though it was you who made the first move. You keep still, too, and wait for him to respond, fingers gripping the roundneck of his shirt.

He's holding back. His eyes are confused, conflicted. His arms are tense and you know he wants this, too, but he's scared.

He loses it when you move your lips.

It was a simple flutter you did, a small twitch-like action, but he completely lets go because tonight might be the only chance he has of holding you like this.

You know he'll regret it tomorrow because that's just how he is, but you keep it on the front of your mind that he doesn't have to.

You tiptoe and move your lips softly against his, and he gives a shuddering sigh before pulling you in closer. You tilt your head and he moves slowly, sweetly, and it hits you with a pang that Dave, even as he loses his resolve, the one he's built for years, is still protecting you right now.

Everything he ever did was for you, and you feel that steady, caring, cautious Dave in the way he kisses you.

It feels overdue, feels like you should've done this long ago, but it is _so_ worth the wait.

You take a step further and lick his bottom lip. He opens his mouth to scoop you in, and oh my god you are fucking melting.

You don't think you've made out so sweetly with anyone you've ever dared to kiss.

The warmth of the inside of his mouth, his tongue against yours, is impossibly welcome in the humid night air. He tastes faintly of mojitos, overshadowed by peppermints and cherries and pineapple juice. The mixed-up taste is surprisingly delicious, and you're determined to cover every square centimeter of him.

You're sure you taste of beer and different kinds of alcohol and he might be disgusted but he doesn't show it. His hands move to cradle your face and it feels so perfect to have him here with you like this.

You two stand there and kiss for like forever, but it's actually only been three minutes. That's okay. You're making sure it lasts longer the next time it happens. You're making sure it _happens_.

He pulls away and leans his forehead against yours.

"For the first and last time, I'm taking advantage of how drunk you are and I am telling you...that I love you, John," he whispers. After that he steps away and stands there awkwardly, waiting for you to move.

You look at him, a bit of sobriety creeping back into you. You feel your stomach drop, heavy with feelings and apprehension.

"Dave, I love you, too. Yor've... You've just been too blindd to—hic!—to see."

He keeps his eyes locked on his Chucks, color undecided by the darkness.The orange fluorescent seems to want to creep to him, but he's just in the almost there, hardly in the dark but also barely in the light.

"Or, uh, I've jyst bee-een too afryaid to show it. But it's—hic!—true! I-I do love you!"

He stands just as still, waits for a while, then proceeds to walk forward, meeting with the bright streetlight. "You're gone too deep, John. You don't know what you're sayin' anymore," he replies wistfully, his back to you.

Your hiccups grow tenfold and you're almost incomprehensible to yourself, but you say what you want to say, what you need to say. "Dave, I do! Fuck iff you don't bel-ieve me! I'm may be drunk, but I know that _that's_ what my heart says! It's what it's been saying for three damn yea—hic!—years!"

Dave stops. "Three years."

You stumble forward and grab the back of his shirt, leaning against his broad back. "Three years, Dave!"

"I've waited for five, six, seven, John. Seven. So fuck you. You lose this time. I let you win everything else. I let you have the upper hand. I let you steal my _heart,_ for fuck's sake! But you can't have that over me, because I've loved you for seven years and you never gave me a chance."

You pull him around to face you. "I l—"

You're cut off by his tears. He's quiet, and there are no choking sounds or sniffles to be heard, but in the middle of the visibility, you see his red eyes behind the black shades. The tears streaming silently, slowly, tells you that he's had enough. That more than five years of this emotional dam is taking its toll. That protecting you from himself is too difficult. _You're_ making it too difficult. And you, to make matters worse, are drunk.

You cautiously let go of him to reach up for his shades. Carefully, you slip them off, as if afraid of detonating a bomb.

You look right at him, one hand holding onto the aviators, the other thumbing tear streaks away. "I love you, Dave. I love you, and I'm ready to say it for four, seven—hic!—seven years or more if it means...if it means making up to you for all that time and, and wiping those tears aw-away."

His fists tighten, then eventually shake and open. You watch him let it go, finally surrendering to his feelings and slumping and kissing your forehead, whispering, "John, I love you. I love you so much. I love you," over and over and over again.

All you can think of saying is, "I love y-ou, too."

You stand there for a moment or two, waiting for it all to dawn on you that this is actually happening. Begrudgingly, Dave steps back and walks onward to the direction of your house. You follow him, the heavy midnight air making way for both of you.

You two walk under the towering streetlights, the dark eating you up and letting you go, the pattern repetitive and recommencing. There's a space between you two, filled by air and resolved tension and reassurance.

As you enter the eighteenth mid-light break, you reach for his hand, and he takes yours, timing and synchronicity a bit too natural for new lovers. Maybe that's okay. You could be tiers away from being boyfriends and have the exact same synchronicity as you do now.

He and you come out hand in hand from under the bright orange light, and homeward.


End file.
